Falling Slowly
by lilyamongthorns
Summary: First day on the job, Pepper steps into a scenario she never expected. The transformation of Pepper and Tony's relationship from employee/boss to friend/friend to more. Done a million and one times, but I wanted to try my hand at it. Eventual pepperony.
1. Chapter 1

AN: This has been done many times before, and I know there is currently one being updated because its on my follow list, but I've got to get this out somewhere. So…here, and I hope I can make it different and worth your while. Of course, you can never have enough Pepperony in your life :)

Anyways, this starts from the very beginning of Pepper's career as Tony's PA, and who knows where it will go from there.

-O-O-O-

"_I don't know you, but I want you all the more for that." – Glen Hansard & Marketa Inglova, Falling Slowly_

-O-O-O-

She didn't remember ever seeing her CEO up close in the three years she'd been employed here. It was almost like having permission to visit JD Salinger or Howard Hughes—hopefully without the jars of urine and eight-inch nails. Very few people in the company had ever met the man in person. If they had, most held him to be short, unenthused and apathetic.

She'd been told that this is the first time he'd been to the office in weeks and she should count herself lucky. Her meeting with Mindy Hemsworth in HR had crushed all vain confidence she'd entered with. Of course she knew about the man's reputation. She read, and watched the news. She'd seen more of the man from her television set than she'd even desired to. But Ms. Hemsworth had made quite clear that no woman had lasted three weeks in her position. A handful had run out crying, and several others had ended up bearing all for the tabloids when caught tangled up in the back of Mr. Stark's limo. She had no intentions of doing either.

Nevertheless, this was a job. And a job it would stay.

She knocked on the door twice, steeling herself for what she'd find. She waited, rocking back against her four inch heels nervously. Thirteen. Thirteen women in four months. How did anything get done around here, she wondered, with a steady flow of girls revolving in and out of the position?

"Yeah?" his voice asked from inside, sounding annoyed and clipped.

She tried not to let herself jump. Her lower lip came between her teeth and she exhaled. Here went nothing.

She breezed through the door, folder clutched close over the dip in the neckline of her camisole. "Good morning, Mr. Stark," she greeted, her voice even.

He stood on a chair, one foot in its seat, the other propped against the top. The chair leaned against the wall and he reached upwards, hands around the top of rim of the television that was bolted to the wall. Wires poked out from every side, and Pepper was certain that the manufacturer would not be pleased.

His head swiveled in her direction and the chair wobbled tediously, but he kept his balance. A screwdriver was clamped between his teeth, a tinkle of ingenuity in his eye. He looked completely different than the first time she'd seen him up close. His hair had been slicked back, and now it was a messy array of dark brown locks. He'd worn sunglasses, but now she could see the deep chocolate color of his eyes. If she hadn't seen his picture in many tabloids, she wouldn't have guessed it was the same man.

"Hey," he answered passively. "Can you…?" He waved a hand toward the plain coffee mug at the edge of the desk a few feet away.

For a moment, she paused in shock. Seriously. So much for a polite greeting. But she wasn't yet deterred.

"Certainly, Mr. Stark. And I need your signature on several things, so if you could…"

"On the desk," he prompted, waving that hand again and going back to his work. Oh yes, she remembered Ms. Hemsworth's prompting. He didn't like to be handed things. She laid the black folder soundlessly against the glass and reached for his coffee mug. The desk was crowded by a few papers, a cup of pens, but no other office supplies were visible. Not even a stapler. On further inspection, the papers he did have laying around weren't contracts or shipping manifests, but renderings. His iMac crowded most of the desk, sitting smart and trim behind a shining model of a '32 Roadster, flames tapering up the sides. The car model was the only personal article on the desk. Otherwise, the desk was uncluttered and neatly kept.

"There's a fresh pot, over there by the scotch," he informed her without turning around.

A few strides took her to the small table, laden with a carafe of coffee and a bottle of scotch. She took the opportunity to inspect the rest of the office. Behind her, there were several framed landscapes of famous skylines, including New York and San Francisco. The usual repetitive wall art seen in every doctor's office nationwide. He really needed something else there. Something modern. Opposite her, there was a set of chairs—one of which was occupied by his feet—smaller and more accommodating than his office chair, but of the same white leather. They faced a low-legged table of glass and metal, clean and immaculate. The TV hung on the left hand wall above the table, currently under construction.

Well, at least he seemed neat. Except for standing with his shoes in a white leather chair. That could be forgiven. She couldn't say the same for his taste in art. That would have to change.

At the corner of the rather large office, a wide, rectangular model was perched on a pedestal, huge and intricate. She couldn't quite make out what it was. A city?

"And how do you take your coffee, sir?" she asked politely.

"Four sugars, three creams."

She almost gaped in protest, but she didn't dare ask him to repeat. She just dumped the condiments into the inky black liquid and stirred neatly with a coffee stirrer.

The liquid in the mug turned clear white, and she wrinkled her nose. How could he drink this stuff?

Promptly, she returned to the desk and deposited the mug near his track pad.

"Thanks. You're Potts right?" He jumped from his chair, and if his agile athleticism flustered her, she didn't show it.

"Indeed I am, sir," she answered, keeping that professional smile.

"Cool. I was wondering when you'd show up." He plopped carelessly into his white office chair behind the desk. She only just realized he wore a t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. Proper office attire at its finest.

He stared her up and down a moment, and she felt suddenly like an amoeba under a microscope. She didn't even have her folder anymore to clamp over the bit of cleavage peeking over her blouse. Why had she chosen this top? Why? His eyes were definitely trained on her breasts, she could tell. Then, just like that, his inspection was over. He sniffed and made an unusual humming noise.

"Alright, Pepper. What am I looking at here?" he flipped open the folder and began scanning.

This was the first time she'd heard her newly appointed nickname spoken in casual conversation. He'd muttered it to his bodyguards the day she'd tracked him down about the accounting error, but never had he addressed her as such until now. She wasn't sure if she liked it. It was a bit rude, being named after a common condiment, but Hemsworth had said he liked nicknames. He was too preoccupied to remember names. That's what she was for.

"Shipment approvals, sir."

He glanced up from the papers, and she didn't notice how long and dark his eyelashes were. No, she didn't notice at all.

"Stop calling me sir," he ordered, his voice clipped again.

"Yesssss…..sir," she answered, drawing the _s _from one word to the other so they were hooked in awkward union when she attempted to swallow the last one. Her smile didn't falter, but she felt a blush bleed across her cheeks.

He found her slip up funny, for whatever reason, and smirked. He eased his chair back, leaning his hands back behind his head, surveying her again with one corner of his mouth quirked upwards. He seemed satisfied, like he'd won some sort of game.

"I mean…Yes. Certainly." She amended her statement successfully. "Will that be all, Mr. Stark?"

He snorted, that grin never leaving his lips. "That will be all, Miss Potts."

She turned to leave the office in a daze. What had just happened? Five minutes, and she'd been mind-swept. Had he just played some sort of trick? Some sort of crazy first-day-on-the-job-personal-assistant mind game? Hemsworth had not notified her about that. She swallowed down the odd lump in her throat and made for her own office, on the same floor but down the hall. This was definitely not just a job.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Just a little more set-up before we get to the good stuff...

-O-O-O-

The day she noticed his diet was completely out of control was only her fourth day working with him. It was also her first visit to the mansion. He'd asked her to come there instead of to the office. He still had several folders of paperwork she'd left with him, and she needed to grab them to run them over to the office by the end of the day. She parked her Lexus at the curve of his driveway and paused momentarily, surveying the mammoth building before her.

It was right out of the Jettsons cartoons, curved and futuristic. The outside walls were glass, though tinted to keep peeping eyes and camera lenses from intrusion.

She pulled the strap of her laptop case over one shoulder and reached for the front door handle, but before she could grasp it, a disembodied voice spoke.

"Hello, Miss Potts. Mr. Stark has been expecting you. You have been granted Level Two access to the house, which includes all areas of the house, excluding the workshop. Please press your thumb against the keypad."

She'd jumped away at first, but when a little slot opened up in the wall next to the door and a clear square of glass rolled from inside of it, she wasn't surprised. Instead, she pressed her left thumb against it. Various blue lights flashed over the glass and a faint beep was emitted.

"Thank you, Miss Potts. You may now enter."

"Thank…you…" she said to the speaker above her head and pushed open the door. He was already waiting in the kitchen, a bag of Skittles in one hand and a Red Bull on the counter.

"Hey," he mused as if he'd been expecting her. Had the voice told him she was coming? Could he—it—be in two places at once?

"Good morning, Mr. Stark. Your butler is quite charming," she teased, depositing her laptop on a nearby barstool.

He siphoned a few Skittles into his mouth and chewed. "That's JARVIS. He runs the house."

"Impressive. Is that some new technology you're working on?"

He shifted. "No. JARVIS is mine."

Now she understood why people said he was off-putting. He didn't like people; or rather he would be in the presence of robots than of people. He could have interaction without all the hardships that an actual human relationship brought. She filed the bit of information away in her mind.

"Well…I really need to get that paperwork from you. R&D needs you to…"

The crunch of his Red Bull can being smashed underhand interrupted her. "You look great this morning, Potts." His hands pressed the can flat, his biceps bulging, bare of sleeves. He wore only a simple black tank and jeans. She hadn't yet noticed, but now she certainly did, the way his muscles shifted with every movement.

"Yes, well. I do try." She tugged a thin leather folder from her bag, containing his schedule. "Can I grab that paperwork from you, please? And then we need to discuss…"

"What paperwork?" he said through a mouthful of Skittles.

She sighed, her pen pausing in midair. "Alright, then…"

He took a step closer, and her knuckles brushed against his left peck when her hand came down to write something in his schedule.

She audibly cleared her throat, shaking the feeling from her mind but unable to control her blush.

"I'm beginning to really like that blush of yours, Miss Potts. You're freckles are quite cute."

"You have a nine-thirty dinner this evening," she continued, undeterred.

He bent closer over her folder, dangerously close. "Is that Chanel No. 5? A classic, I must say."

In one quick move, she snapped the folder shut and pressed it close to her, hands clamped on either side as if she might strike him with it if he tried anything else. Her jaw squared, but she was certain her cheeks were still flushed.

"It's Marc Jacobs," she corrected flatly.

"Oh, is it?" he feigned surprise.

"Yes_, sir_," she used the title purposefully to piss him off. "Indeed it is."

He smirked, but she remained stoic. She wasn't going to let him do this to her. She wouldn't be a notch in the bedpost of Tony Stark. She had more self-respect than that.

Eventually, his smile faded and she knew he took the hint. His eyes darkened, and she had to force herself from thinking about the type of chocolate they were shaded like. Not the cheap, milk chocolate, but sensual, dark chocolate. Godiva, molten and smoldering. She swallowed.

"Could you take care of the mess, Miss Potts?" he said, waving a hand toward the kitchen before turning on heel and exiting the room. She could hear his heavy footfalls on the stairs, steady thudding away from her.

She did. She piled his crumpled Red Bull can into the trash can, along with the emptied Skittles sleeve and a package of Oreos.

Out of curiosity, she peeked into the pantry. Surely he had to have some sort of healthy sustenance in this place. The top shelf held various sugary cereals. A box of Life was the closest she could find to any sort of adult-appropriate breakfast food. Next were stacks of cookies, but she was relieved to notice several varieties of powdered energy and protein shakes. Not so bad.

The refrigerator was devoid of all fruits and vegetables except a jar of pickles and several containers of yogurt. Several packages of string cheese were the only things in the dairy drawer. She did, however, notice several bottles of wine and champagne.

How did he even cook for himself with a stock like this?

She eased the door closed and turned over one shoulder, making sure she was still alone before speaking. "Um…Jarvis?" she tried.

"Yes, Miss Potts?" the disembodied voice spoke again.

"Does Mr. Stark…cook?"

"I regret to say he has not cooked a meal for himself in several weeks, and that was a grilled cheese sandwich. He lacks proper skills for much else. Mr. Stark's meals come from take-out menus. He is particularly fond of delivery pizza."

She glared at the stainless steel doors on the fridge. "How does he even stay in shape?" she muttered to herself, not expecting an answer.

"Mr. Stark has recently begun to practice the art of Wing Chun, as well as thrice weekly boxing matches with Mr. Hogan. He practices a circuit of cardio and weightlifting on the days he does not box, to answer your question Miss Potts."

"Thanks," she muttered under her breath.

She ventured to the rest of the house, scoping the place out. A long sofa was rounded to the curve of the walls behind it, adjacent to a modern looking fireplace. A Bluthner piano sat in the next room, sleek and shining. She wondered if he played, or if it was just for show.

Surprisingly, there were several abstract paintings on the inner walls, including a first edition Barnet Newman that she stared at maybe a little too longingly. Finally, she made her way up the stairs, searching out his bedroom so she could lay out a suit for his dinner later in the evening.

Her fingers caught the water as is cascaded down the barrier between the stairs and the rest of the house, and it splashed a little onto her sleeve.

His bedroom was enormous, the first room at the top of the stairs. The huge bed didn't even occupy most of the room. She had almost expected superhero sheets judging by his diet. But the bed was neatly made—by who, she wondered—and fit with a jewel toned quilt and matching sheets.

She moved for the closet, met with a room that was almost as large as her own bedroom. He probably owned more pairs of designer sneakers than she owned pairs of heels. Many expensive suits were on display, of different patterns, colors, and styles. The opposite wall held a row of leisure clothes: t-shirts, folded pairs of sweats, jeans and sweaters. The back wall displayed several watches, all of different colored bands, cufflinks, and upon further inspection she noticed an MIT class ring.

After formulating several outfits, she chose a charcoal color suit, red shirt and a matching tie. She draped the outfit across the mattress and fled the room, feeling suddenly awkward, like she was intruding.

She slammed into something hard…and deliciously scented with aftershave.

"Excuse me, Mr. Stark." She backed away, looking up into those Godiva-colored eyes. "I was just laying out your suit for the evening. Can I get that paperwork from you, so I can run it by the office?"

"I haven't signed it yet," he admitted.

"Well, do you think you could, so I can…?"

He leaned close again, well inside her personal bubble. Her shoulders rose in defense and she tried to lean back. She thought he might try to kiss her, but instead his head twisted to peer into the bedroom, appraising the suit she'd chosen. A forceful hand fell to his bicep, trying to ease him back.

It was the first time she'd ever purposefully touched him, and she regretted it. It sent butterflies swimming in her stomach.

"Excuse me, Mr. Stark. But…"

"You did good, Potts. Nice choice. Now…about that paperwork." He turned, one Chuck Taylor squeaking against the marble flooring.

She followed at his heels, feeling her stomach churn with anxiety and embarrassment…and…no…definitely not desire.

-O-O-O-

After work, she hurried to the gym to burn off some steam. After a bit of cardio, she drove home with takeout and a rental film. Max was in his studio, as expected. No doubt he'd heard her come in, but she snuck behind him all the same, wrapping her arms around his shoulders from behind.

"Hey," she said, chin on his shoulder.

"Hi," he answered, preoccupied with the canvas in front of him.

"That's nice." She surveyed the splatters of blue and green.

"It's ugly." He sighed and relaxed back against her.

"No. Its abstract," she answered, and he let out a dry chuckle. That was their little joke, ever since they'd visited the Mark Rothko exhibit at the Met a few years back.

He turned his chin over one shoulder to give her a kiss. Short, and dull.

Pepper really had no idea how they managed to stay together. There were no two people so very different from each other than her and her boyfriend. She worked hard, was straight laced, punctual, and polite. Max hadn't had a steady job in three months and worked most days in his studio painting. She wasn't even quite sure anymore what had been distinctly attractive about him. He was funny and sweet, but most people were. That had never been particularly exceptional to Pepper. Their relationship was on a steady decline, both of them hanging by a thread to keep it alive.

"I brought take-out," she enticed him, pressing a kiss to his thick, dark curls.

"K. I was done anyways," he said with a sigh and stood.

They filled their plates with sushi and chow mien and settled onto the couch. He didn't ask about work or Tony. And she was thankful she didn't have to admit to him what had taken place. Instead, they ate in silence and watched the film she'd picked out.

The movie was lame and horribly produced. When the dishes were loaded into the sink and the two of them retired to their bedroom, the sex was boring and needy. At three in the morning, Max slipped from the bed, and she woke at his stirring. She heard him exit the room, and heard the click of the lamp in his studio.

She stayed awake until her alarm went off at five.


	3. Chapter 3

_"Is it guilty in here? Or is it just me?" - Miranda Lambert, Guilty In Here_

-O-O-O-

It only took seven days for all hell to break loose. Mr. Stark was supposed to attend an accounting meeting, a meeting that she had reminded him about multiple times. However, his seat at the head of the conference room table was currently void. She called seven times; fifteen, ten, and five minutes before and four more times once he didn't show up by one o'clock as scheduled.

Instead, she took the lead and efficiently ran the meeting on his behalf. None of the men took her seriously, despite her best efforts. And she could understand why. Through all her professionalism and poise, she was indeed only a PA, plucked miraculously from the secretarial pool. And though she was very good at covering for him, she was no Tony Stark and his presence—or lack thereof—was apparent. The men from accounting assumed she was just another assistant who would be fired or throw in the towel within a few weeks. Pepper's intentions were quite different.

The woman had saved the entire company from collapse by pointing out that accounting error to Mr. Stark and these men could even care less. Though now, when she sifted through months of records and files and found the missing million-dollar checks, they seemed no more grateful than before.

Exasperated, she made her way to the mansion to throttle him—at least, she would've liked to throttle him.

Her heels clicked loudly up the stairs and she threw open the bedroom door. The room was pitch black even when the afternoon sun was bright outdoors. The lights were off, and the window panes tinted black.

"Jarvis, lights," she demanded, and the AI obeyed.

The window tint lifted and the Malibu sun filtered in. Pepper instantly regretted it.

Her boss was sprawled across the mattress, sheets askew, very naked and not alone. A brunette in an equal state of undress was draped over his chest, her arm around him, though his own arms were thrown akimbo out to the sides, not touching her at all. Thankfully, the blankets fell over them in such a way that nothing too…indecent...was visible, but Pepper still felt the color bleed across her cheeks and down her neck.

The couple stirred, and Tony's eyes squinted open towards the ceiling. He groaned audibly, slapping a hand over his eyes. Through all the motion, Pepper stood frozen in her spot, mouth agape.

"Jarvis, what the hell?" he groaned.

His words broke her trance, and Pepper fled in three quick strides. The carpeting muted the noise of her heels until she exited the room, now clicking against the marble floors.

She heard Tony curse and trotted down the stairs at lightning speed. She barricaded herself in the kitchen at the very back corner, not visible from the living area or the stair way. She flung open her laptop and began furiously typing.

That. Had. Not. Just. Happened.

She waited anxiously, hoping that they both would disappear. Maybe they would throw a rope of bedsheets out the window and she wouldn't have to face them. Her manicured fingernails flicking against the keys overpowered the noise of his footfalls on the stairs.

"Potts!" His voice was loud against the hard walls, and she winced.

He strode into the kitchen, now dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, his hair still disheveled.

His eyes never left her while he tugged a bottle of juice from the fridge and filled his glass.

"What?" she almost snapped.

"I saw you taking a peek up there," he commented, his eyebrows wiggling over the rim of his glass.

She cleared her throat and opened her mouth to speak, but he interrupted.

"Did you like what you saw, because I'd be willing to let you join in if you wanted…"

She felt the sudden need to shower. "No thank you," she deadpanned and returned her gaze to the laptop screen.

"Do me a favor? Call Happy to give her a ride home."

She looked up, horrified for a moment. No, she certainly would not clean up his messes, at least not that type. She wasn't his mother nor his computer butler to be treated in whatever fashion he desired.

"Fine," she agreed. She was such a pushover.

"Cool. I'll be down in the shop." He grabbed his glass and hurried away.

After a few more moments and a call to Happy, she slipped back upstairs to gather the woman's clothes from where they'd been abandoned around the room.

As she folded the dress and stockings neatly across the chair, the woman stirred and startled awake, holding the sheet around her body.

Her dark eyes met Pepper's in confusion and shock.

"Hello," Pepper greeted, attempting to remain professional while she formulated a speech. "There's a car outside that will take you anywhere you'd like to go and I've got your clothes here. They aren't cleaned, I'm afraid. But…"

"Who are you?" the woman interrupted, sliding from the bed, shifting the sheet around her completely.

"I'm…" Pepper blanched. How was she supposed to introduce herself? It was rather a shock to wake up to a strange woman, obviously having expected someone else. "I'm Pepper…Potts. Mr. Stark's assistant. I'll let you shower and dress…"

"Tony said he was coming back," the girl said, her voice high.

"Yes, well…" Pepper neatly deposited the girl's heels in the seat of the chair and took a step forward to leave, but what happened next made her freeze in her tracks.

The girl sobbed, and a hand flew to her mouth. Pepper had never seen a human being produce tears so quickly. They streamed down her cheeks, smudging her thick makeup. Honestly, she felt sorry for the girl. No doubt last night's events were splotchy and then Tony had all but abandoned her like a sack of roadside garbage. But it was not her place to intervene.

"I'll have a cup of coffee waiting for you downstairs. Would you like anything else?"

The offer felt lame, like a conciliation prize, but the girl accepted and Pepper promptly left to let her shower and dress.

She was at her laptop at the bar in the kitchen when the girl returned, purse over her shoulder, damp hair slung up in a messy ponytail, wearing her sequined much-too-tiny party dress. She peered into the kitchen a little warily. "Excuse me. Where's Tony?"

Pepper glanced up. "Mr. Stark is very busy," she answered. Lying was not her forte, but she had a feeling she would become quite good at it.

The woman sighed and ran her fingers through her bangs. "Look…please can I just talk to him?"

"Mr. Stark has left for a meeting," she said without looking up from her screen.

"Please let me…"

Pepper turned, her hands falling to her lap. "I'm sorry, miss. But I'm very busy, and so is the man waiting for you with the car outside. We run a company, not a night club. Please see yourself out."

She wasn't sure where that had come from, and was certain that it wasn't appropriate at all. But she wasn't going to put up with whining twits all day. The woman gave a huff and clicked past her, headed for the door.

-O-O-O-

That evening, she sprawled on the couch watching TV and eating dinner alone. Max had been gone and she hadn't bothered to call.

The work day left her exhausted and all but fuming. But it wasn't her responsibility nor her place to say anything. The way he lived his life was none of her business, that much was true. She'd been warned about his behavior and knew more than enough about his reputation. She was ready to accept a task, whatever it was. By signing into this contact, she bound herself to that.

She couldn't deny the urge to quit, but her own shrewd and persevering nature wouldn't let her.

Tony Stark was a mystery, even though she had been so certain she knew everything about him. His flirting was definitely inappropriate, and his womanizing was disturbing. But there was something underneath it all Pepper wanted to solve.

She busied herself cleaning the kitchen, not able to stay idle long. She was scrubbing at a particularly greasy pan when the door sprang open.

"Ginny! Gin!" Max rounded the corner excitedly, eyes wide. "Ginny, guess what?"

He was ecstatic, grinning ear to ear.

"What's going on?" she laughed when he tugged her in for a kiss.

"The Weisman Museum wants me to do some pieces."

"Are you serious?" Pepper said excitedly. "That's amazing!"

He kissed her again. "It's only three pieces, but if they like my work, they'll display it publicly. This is huge, Ginny!'

"I know, I know!" She pulled him in for a tight hug. "I'm so happy for you. This is great."

"Let's go out for ice cream," he decided. "I miss you. We haven't really talked in forever." He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

She nodded in agreement and they left for their dessert date.

-O-O-O-

At her two-week-one-day mark, she was met with a day pull of meetings and paperwork. Tony sauntered into her office, a bottle of champagne in hand.

"Oh, come to fire me?" she asked from behind her computer.

"To congratulate you," he answered with a devious grin. She was collecting snapshots of the many expressions of Tony Stark. He had a smile when he wanted something, a different smile when he was amused or turned on. His eyes became bright and searching when he was bored, and he drummed an anxious hand on the nearest surface when he wanted to speak but couldn't quite express himself. This was definitely the 'want something' smile and she didn't like it at all.

"On what…?"

"Making it fifteen days. You've set a record Potts. You're an Olympian."

She snorted and rose from her desk. "Hardly. PR needs a follow up meeting tomorrow and…"

He shoved a glass of champagne into her hands. "Less talk, more drink."

"I don't drink at work."

He surveyed her while he sipped his own glass. "How old are you again?"

"Twenty-five," she answered.

"Right." The question was random but it spurred him on. He rounded the desk to stand next to her. "Are you a natural redhead?"

She almost answered, but his hand came around to tug the end of her ponytail. She ignored the electric current at the back of her head.

"Cuz you know what they say about redheads." He inched his way closer and she felt his breath on her cheek. "They're amazing in bed…"

She backed out of his grasp. "Let me just stop you there, before you make an even bigger idiot out of yourself," she said dryly, depositing the glass she'd been holding onto the edge of her desk.

"Mr. Stark…"

"Tony."

"Tony. I know you've probably done this with all of your other employees." She gestured to the champagne bottle. "But I do not plan on sleeping with you, nor do I plan on running out of here in tears any time soon."

He took another sip and peeked over the edge of his glass, watching her through the filter of the amber liquid. "You are a woman of astonishing depths, Potts."

"I try," she answered.

He made a humming noise deep in his throat. "Alright. Schedule that meeting with PR tomorrow." He shifted across the room for the door, glass and bottle in hand. "Oh. And I want to have a party. Pull up the usual invite list and get the house ready, would you? Thanks."

The door clicked close behind him, and Pepper fell back into her chair. Was it his goal not to keep an assistant for more than two weeks? Did he pride himself on how quickly he could humiliate girls? Brushing off the thought, she pulled herself closer to the keyboard to finish her work.

-O-O-O-

AN: No worries, we will see a softer side of Tony soon.

OK, random question for any Londoners, how is everything over there? I'm dying to know. I wish I could be there to visit your amazing city again.


	4. Chapter 4

_"You have suffered enough and warred with yourself. It's time that you won." – Glen Hansard & Marketa Irglova_

-O-O-O-

Her suitcases were packed and tucked safely in the bedroom of the jet. She herself was perched in a seat, a thick paperback in her hands. She had never expected to be on a business trip this early in the game, and she had concluded that working for Tony Stark was indeed a game.

They were on their way to London for a few meetings with their affiliates. Max had been none too pleased that she was taking off overseas for the next week and a half, but had eventually gotten over it. He had his pieces to work on, and probably wouldn't even notice she was gone.

Gunfire and the whoosh of chopper blades interrupted her peaceful reading. She glanced over one shoulder at Tony, in his own seat, video game controller in hand. Animated aircraft and soldiers flashed across the huge wall-to-wall screen at the end of the jet. With a sigh, she plucked her iPod from her purse and cranked up the Coldplay.

For just a little over an hour, he kept himself occupied with the game. When the gunfire ceased, she glanced over one shoulder to peer at him and instantly looked away again. He had one flight attendant straddled over his lap, another clinging to his arm.

Promptly, she snapped her book shut and stood, headed for the galley. He had absolutely no shame.

-O-O-O-

After their meetings, Tony cheekily dragged her to a party she had not been notified about, nor did she want to attend. She sat at the edge of the crowd, sipping her martini, keeping an eye on Tony from afar. He had two ladies on either arm, and she didn't want to cramp his style. If he wanted to participate in such escapades, it was none of her business. She would let him.

A man came by to ask her if she'd like a drink, and she was initially charmed by his accent. He'd told her how pretty she looked, and how nicely her dress fit her. Pepper had never been one for silly, meaningless compliments, but his ginger hair was a plus. She agreed, but by the time they finished their third dance, she remembered her commitment to Max and instantly became shy and embarrassed. Even with an ocean separating them, she couldn't betray him like that.

They'd been surprisingly building their relationship back to something more recognizable as boyfriend/girlfriend and not just friends. His art show had brightened his spirits a bit; she suspected that was the trigger.

After she politely tugged herself out of the Englishman's arms, she made a sweep of the room, searching for Tony. As she suspected, he was nowhere in sight, and neither was the blonde and brunette he had been entertaining.

She tarried around the party awhile, making small talk with several associates for nearly an hour and a half before he emerged, looking prim and proud as ever, wearing a prideful smirk and traces of pink lipstick beneath his ear.

The ride back to the hotel was uncharacteristically quiet. Pepper sent a good night text to Max and checked email. She glanced to Tony, expecting a bout of verbal sparring, but getting nothing. The smirk was gone and he seemed focused and intense on the seat in front of him.

When they exited the limo, their elevator ride up to the suite was silent as well.

"Everything ok?" she asked.

Only then did he smile again. "Yup. Just thinking about how fabulous you look in that dress."

She scoffed.

"I saw you flirting with that guy. I'm a little jealous."

"Why? You have no chance at competition. Besides, I'm sure your own conquests were quite satisfactory."

"I'm hurt, Potts."

"You'll live."

She marched out of the elevator, just a tad too proud.

He'd booked a suite with two bedrooms, and she was lying if she said she was at ease with the entire thing. It was strange sharing a room with her boss, even if they had separate bedrooms. She would definitely lock the door tonight.

When they entered, he prompted her to dig some pajamas out of his suitcase and hurried off to the bathroom.

She gathered a t-shirt and shorts from his bag. She knew it was just a ploy to get her busy with something else. He never slept in pajamas; at the very least, a pair of shorts. If he even put these on she'd be surprised, let alone if she came to wake him up and he was still fully clothed. After two months she'd learned that Tony Stark very much liked being in the buff and wasn't afraid to bear all. Not that he had any reason to be. She wouldn't lie. Tony was attractive, and very much so.

She pushed open the bathroom door that he'd left ajar.

He stood, suit jacket gripped in one hand, a small bag in the other. He'd just tugged it out of his coat, she suspected, but she hoped the white powder it contained wasn't what she thought it was.

"What are you doing?" she breathed quietly, horrified, frozen, clutching his bedclothes.

He glanced over at her, calm and focused again like he'd been in the limo. He pulled open the dime bag and spilled its contents into the toilet in front of him. It flowed like the sugar she put into his coffee every morning. Like flour in a cake.

Once disposed of, he crumpled the bag in one hand and held it a moment in his fist. He wasn't letting go yet.

She watched his every move, heart hammering, not believing this was reality. He released the bit of plastic into the bin next to the sink and straightened up to face her.

"Tony…" she breathed. It was the first time she'd ever said it without his prompting.

He shook his head, his lips pressed thin. It wasn't yet time to speak.

He bent over the bin and tugged the entire trash bag from the can and knotted it securely. He held it out to her.

She hesitated a moment. What was he expecting her to do with that? Her manicured fingers curled around it and she held it out in front of her awkwardly. She hadn't noticed her hands shaking until now.

"What do you want me to do…I…" she stammered, her usual professionalism faltering.

This was just them. Just two people caught in the midst of a very serious issue neither of them wanted to admit was really happening.

"Take it outside to the maid's cart. Make sure it's completely gone. I don't want it anywhere near me. And while you're gone, bring me a bottle of water from the machine."

She nodded and hurried out the door, moving much too quickly to be called calm. She felt like she was getting rid of pertinent evidence. Her breath shuddered when she deposited the bag into the larger bin by the maid's cart. She even braved the disgusting trash inside to cover the bag completely.

When she returned to the room with his water, he was lying in bed, propped up and wearing the pajamas she'd brought. She handed it to him, but didn't leave the bedside.

"Can you please…_please _tell me what that was all about, Tony? You can't bring cocaine in here and expect me not to…"

He held his hand up, stopping her.

"Before you go Mommy Dearest on me, I've been clean for years now. I'm surprised the media didn't find out when I was shipped off to rehab for three months. I guess Obie covered for me well…" He was no longer talking to her, but reliving the memories. "One of those chicks at the party passed it off to me, and I'd never intended on taking it. I just never was able to throw it out until now. I'm sorry you had to see it. I hadn't meant to…"

"Tony." She sighed, all her usual staunchness dissolved. "You should've told me. I could've…"

"There was nothing to tell."

She pursed her lips and wrung her hands. "Right, well…I'll see you…" she turned to step out of the room, but Tony caught her hand.

"Hey."

She pulled back almost instantly. It was too much to be touched at the moment.

"Wanna watch a movie?" he asked.

"What?" she answered. He'd just admitted his past drug addiction to her, and now he wanted to watch a movie?

He just smiled and nodded. "I won't try anything. Just lay here with me. Friends?"

Now he was calling them friends? Pepper reeled a moment. "Let me change first," she finally answered.

She left for her own room, and shut the door behind her. He constantly left her feeling like she was on a different planet; like she'd been just been thrust into a movie universe or someplace where reality was warped. He'd chosen to throw the drugs out, that was proof enough that he was over them. But the fact that he had them in his possession at all left her a bit unnerved, even if it hadn't been his fault. And now he was asking her to lie down with him in his bed. And he'd said he considered them friends. At the very least, Pepper was confused.

She changed into her pajamas: cornflower blue tank and black yoga pants with matching blue stripes up the sides. She neatly hung up her evening gown and threw her hair into a pony tail before exiting the room again and crossing through the sitting room for his bedroom.

She perched on the edge of the bed, sitting cross-legged next to him, spine taut and hands in her lap. This was a little odd, lying in bed with her boss—friend—whatever they were.

"You know," he spoke after several minutes. "There's not a day that goes by that I don't want to go back to drugs…"

She turned to look at him, ponytail swinging over one shoulder.

"Tony, you don't have to say…"

But he continued. "But I know…first of all, my mother would murder me if she ever found out about this. And that…" His fingers plucked at a loose string in the comforter. "There's more important things in life. I haven't really found out what those are yet, but maybe one day I will." His chocolate eyes met hers, and she hoped he didn't see the tears quivering in her own.

"Your eyes match your top," he observed.

She laughed and looked away shyly. "Thanks…I guess."

"Yeah, it's a compliment." His voice was rough again. The moment was over. She steeled herself for more sarcastic banter.

"What's on the agenda tomorrow?"

"Nothing," she replied. "The plane leaves at six in the evening. Other than that the day is clear."

His eased himself back into the mountain of pillows behind him and settled his hands behind his head. "Let's do something fun."

-O-O-O-

"Isn't this sort of illegal?" she asked, leaning against the balcony of the Globe Theatre, looking up at the bright sunlight filtering in the roof.

"Probably, but we'll be fine."

She laughed and glanced down at the workmen clearing the stage of scenery.

"So you know my secret. Now what about you?"

She looked up at him, wide eyed. "Excuse me?"

"Come on, Potts. You've got to have big a bad secret. You can't be all straight-laced and proper."

She just chuckled under her breath. "Sorry to let you down."

He hummed and rubbed at his goatee. They stood in silence a moment.

"I kissed a girl once," she admitted.

He guffawed, collapsing onto the beam of the balcony. His laughter boomed around the theatre, causing the workmen to pause. She joined in with a light chuckle. "What's so funny?"

He just continued,even louder now, doubled over against the railing.

"Oi, who's up there?" one man called from the stage below.

Tony straightened up, but his laughter didn't cease. He grabbed her hand and bounded for the stairs. Once they were down the stairs and outside, he turned to her. "Sorry," he laughed. "It was just ironic. Thinking about how many guys have kissed other guys in that theatre."

She scoffed and elbowed his ribs.

"Y'ouch, Potts. What's with the love tap?" he remarked, holding his side.

"You're insufferable," she said and marched off towards the Thames, heading for their hotel.

Friends. It was weird. It was absurd. Crazy even, to be friends with your boss. But it could work.

-O-O-O-

AN: I'm a total Olympic nerd and couldn't help myself by setting this in London. Sorry bout that.

Also, I don't want his drug stint to seem too 'House MD'-like. Hopefully I didn't make it that way. Tony is ten years away from his Iron Man transformation here, and he still has a lot of issues to work out.


	5. Chapter 5

"_Human nature's got this way of running away when it should stay." – Molotov Jukebox, Sex Foot_

-O-O-O-

His head poked around the corner, and whistled through his teeth, trying to get her attention. "Hey."

She glanced up from her spot on the couch, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. "I'm not a dog," she deadpanned. "What is it that you need?"

"Do you know how to box?"

"No." She went back to her work.

"Well, the Hapster's not here. I need a partner."

"Sorry. Do something else."

He groaned and she heard the weight of his body flop against the wall. "Come on. I'll go easy on you."

She shifted her computer onto the couch beside her, looking at him sideways. "You can't be serious."

"We won't even box. I'll just throw a few punches. Won't even hit you, and if I do you can hit me back."

Without another word, she stood and bent over the low table at the center of the room, fishing her keys from her purse.

"Where are you going?" His voice sounded slightly alarmed.

"To my car. Lucky for you I have my gym bag with me."

She changed in the downstairs bathroom, leaving her suit in a neatly folded pile on the edge of the counter. She entered his gym, still amazed at the size of the room. A treadmill stood at the edge of the room, next to a full set of hand weights and dumbbells and a bench. At the center of the room was the boxing ring.

He was already in the center of it, gloves on and bouncing from foot to foot impatiently. "Let's get a move on, Tyson," he told her, attempting to look threatening, the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up.

She rolled her eyes and ducked into the ring, and she could practically feel his eyes burning her into her skin through her dark blue tank and black yoga pants.

"There's your gloves." He gestured to the pair on the floor at the corner of the ring.

With a groan, she bent for them, angling her body just so away from him.

She tugged them on neatly, arching a brow at him incredulously. "The things I do for you, Mr. Stark."

"You love me," he said passively and she felt her stomach do a backflip.

"Hey, you gotta tighten that…" He reached over to gesture at something on her glove, his hand grazing her breast.

Before her conscious mind could react, her gloved hand made contact with his nose. There was a high-pitched snap and he stumbled back a few steps.

"Oh my God!" she gasped, abandoning her gloves. "Let me see it, let me see it!" she insisted, reaching up to push his hand out of the way.

Red and oozing, blood dripped from his nostrils in quick streaks.

"Oh my God," she repeated. "I didn't mean to do that."

He was going to fire her now, she knew it. Punching your boss in the face was definitely liable for harassment. She was going to lose her job. She steeled herself for the yelling and threats for a court date that were certain to follow.

But then he laughed. Laughed!

He held his hand under the drip and moved for the edge of the ring. "Damn, Potts. Good shot." He ducked under the ropes and she followed, leaping from the edge in a hurry.

She grabbed the towel that hung over the weight machine and held it out to him. "I'm really sorry. You shouldn't have asked me to do this…I told you. And…oh, God…please don't fire me."

He laughed again, his chocolate eyes twinkling. His laughing mouth was blocked now by the towel. "Wouldn't dream of it." His voice was muffled under the fabric.

Her nerves melted, and something fluttered in her chest, but she ignored it for the moment.

"You need ice," she said, moving out of the room. His heavy footfalls were the only sign that he had followed. In the kitchen, she filled a bag with ice, wrapped in a towel to soak up any residual blood. She placed one hand on his hair to lean his chin back and placed it under his nose.

"I don't think it's broken," she observed quietly, trying not to focus on how soft his sleek dark hair was.

He squeezed his eyes closed and open wide again, flexing the muscles in his nose. "No, I don't think so."

"I'm sorry," she repeated.

"Stop with the apologies. It was funny."

"No it wasn't."

"I didn't mean to touch your…you know…boob."

Her hand left the ice bag, and it would've clattered to the floor if his hand hadn't replaced hers. She turned to head back to the couch.

"Pepper," he said, his voice nasally.

She turned.

His chocolate brown eyes were warm and smiling. The color of brownie batter; she felt her insides grow warm. "Forgiven?"

Her lips pursed, and she nodded. "Yes, Mr. Stark." She let her formalities slip for a moment before continuing. "Obviously you shouldn't ask me to box with you anymore."

"Yeah, you're a little too feisty for me," he chuckled behind the towel.

She rolled her eyes and scoffed, heading for the couch to finish her work.

-O-O-O-

She probably would never get used to men buying her drinks. And she couldn't deny the fact that she wished it was someone else buying the drinks, and that that person wasn't Max.

She took the glass from her latest suitor, and politely thanked him.

"A Kiss Goodnight," he said, throwing her a wink.

"Excuse me?" she asked.

"It's the name of the drink." He pushed his blonde waves back and tossed his head, debonair and suave.

"Oh, right." She didn't comment on the fact that she'd asked for a vodka martini.

"So…how are things at Stark Industries?" he asked, leaning an elbow against the bar.

"I don't really know if I'm at liberty to say…"

The man, Geoffrey, chuckled deeply. "I'm not talking about missile plans, darling. I mean you. How are things with _you?_"

Pepper shifted and sipped her drink. "Um…"

"How does he pay you? Well I assume?"

"$65,000," she replied, though that was not at all correct.

"Oh, sweetheart." He inched closer to her. "Your_ skills_ are vastly underestimated." His fingers brushed against her bare arm.

She laughed nervously and stepped away from him. "Well…Mr. Stark and I have a very congenial arrangement." She closed her eyes and felt her stomach churn. That had come out all wrong.

"I'm sure you do…" He grinned.

She sipped her drink once more to keep herself busy and to give herself an excuse not to look at him. She glanced nervously around, hoping to find someone she knew so she could casually slip away. Tony had disappeared nearly half an hour ago and she didn't really want to think about where he was.

"Mr. Grey…"

"Geoffrey."

"I'm not that kind of…" she began, but her skin suddenly began to crawl unexpectedly, and she felt dizzy.

She didn't get to finish before he tugged her closer, her lips mere centimeters from his. She felt her skin tingling, and not out of arousal.

Then it hit her. The drink. She'd been a little suspicious, but hadn't said anything.

"Are there strawberries in this drink?" she asked, shuddering at their closeness.

"Strawberry vodka, yes. What's the problem?"

She pulled herself away, dashing for the bathroom. She barely made it without panic, and startled several women inside when she'd plucked her EpiPen from her clutch.

Once she'd injected it, her hands fumbled with her phone trying to contact Happy. He met her at the bathroom and helped her to the car. The pair left for the hospital, Tony forgotten.

-O-O-O-

She didn't return to the apartment until very early morning, nearly three o'clock. She'd been given the proper medication and sent home, her skin still slightly irritated. Luckily, she'd caught herself in time that her reaction hadn't been too severe.

She slipped into bed next to Max and brought a hand around his waist. "Hey," she whispered, hoping not to startle him.

He shifted and turned to face her. "Hey. You're home."

"I'm so sorry. Some guy at the party gave me a drink with strawberries in it, and we had a bit of a disaster. I'm fine."

"Ginny," he said, his voice worried. He shifted to sit upright, curls sticking up every direction. "Are you ok?"

"I'm fine now. No big deal."

"No big deal?" He rubbed a hand over his eyes. "Wait, did you say a guy bought you a drink?"

She backpedalled instantly. "It was just a polite business gesture."

"Was it your boss?"

"No," she admitted.

"So it was some random guy?" He was still groggy with sleep, slumped against the headboard.

She sighed. "Max. I've just sat in the hospital for four hours. I really don't want to argue right now."

She felt his eyes on her, but couldn't make out his expression in the dim light. He nestled back down against the mattress. "I don't like your boss."

"I'm sorry," she reciprocated, making it very apparent that she wasn't.

"I mean…he obviously doesn't care about you. And he gave you that obnoxious nickname…what is it? Paprika?"

"Pepper." She rolled her eyes and nestled under the covers. She'd become accustomed to the nickname, almost taken it on as her actual name. Ginny seemed like a different person. Pre-Pepper. Pre-Tony.

"He treats you like he owns you…"

"Max…" she said softly, exhausted.

He didn't respond, but turned away from her, tugging the sheets around him.

She sighed and flipped over as well, facing the wall. The last thing she needed at the moment was him pestering her about her boss and a pompous man who'd bought her a drink at a party. It wasn't as if it had been her fault; it couldn't even be called cheating. She hadn't wanted the drink, let alone the man that bought it for her. Max had no reason to be jealous or angry. And she definitely didn't deserved being pestered bout her boss when Max didn't even have one to answer to in the first place, nor when Tony's money had been paying their rent the past three months. Whatever she'd thought had been solved in their relationship obviously hadn't been patched up so easily.

-O-O-O-

She woke up an hour late the next morning and sprang from the bed. She skipped a shower and threw on a business suit without ironing it first. When she reached the mansion, he was still sleeping as she had expected. She shook him awake with a handful of ibuprophen clasped in one hand.

He groaned and tossed a pillow over his head.

"Rise and shine," she said dryly.

"Trunchbull…" he muttered.

"What…?" she said confused, but brushed it off as a nonsensical hung-over slur.

He whined under his pillow. "Go away."

"Get up," she said, exasperated and pulled the blankets from his body, pulling the duvet down past his toes before she froze.

He was naked.

Her face fell to her hands and she sighed heavily. "I can't do this…" she breathed into her palms.

"M'cold…" she heard him grumble and he sat up to tug the blankets back up before flopping against the mattress again.

She deposited his pills on the bedside table and turned swiftly out of the room. She couldn't do this. There was absolutely no way. There was a company at stake and all he seemed to care about was parties and booze. Not a day had gone by that she didn't feel like murdering him or at the least jamming the heel of one shoe into his thigh to mortally wound him.

She was quitting; she didn't have enough backbone for this. She'd just go back to her desk job and everything would be fine and…

"Pepper, I need you…" his voice called from the bedroom, desperate and almost like a child.

Her eyes slid closed and she let a hand rub over her lids, not caring about smudging her makeup. She'd let him become so devoted and dependent on her.

Why did she have to be so good at her job? Why couldn't she just be a failure so he'd fire her already?

He _needed_ her. She couldn't deny it.

She turned back into the bedroom, sucking in a breath to ready herself. "Yes, Mr. Stark?"

One hand came above the mass of pillows and waved towards the bathroom. "Water."

"Of course."

She filled a glass from the tap and set it next to the small pile of tablets on the nightstand.

"How come you left last night?" she heard him say, though his head was currently obscured from view by pillows and blankets.

"Oh, you mean you noticed?" she almost scoffed.

"I always notice you." There was that tone again. Desperate and needy and…wanting. She ignored it. She had to.

"I had an allergic reaction."

"Oh, yeah. Stuffy business men give me hives too."

She bit her lip to force the smile away. "I'm allergic to strawberries. Some jerk bought me a drink with strawberry vodka."

"I'm not allergic to anything…expect meetings…and onions." A small tuft of dark hair peeked from the pillows when he shifted.

She sighed, watching the dark strands poking in all directions. She felt her fingers tingle.

"I'm gonna take a nap. Then we'll talk finance. Deal?"

"Deal," she agreed. "Will that be all Mr. Stark?"

The tuft of dark hair ducked back under the pillows. "That will be all, Miss Potts."


	6. Chapter 6

AN: First, let me ask that you all please log in. I want to know where my reviews are coming from. If you don't have an account, no worries. But if you do, please log in. Thanks.

Oh and yes, a few of you caught my parallel to RDJ with the drugs and Wing Chun. You are very correct. I seriously think Tony Stark = RDJ. They are the exact same person. Ok, well maybe not exactly.

RAMBLING! Story time.

-O-O-O-

"_Games that never amount to more than they're meant will play themselves out." – Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova, Falling Slowly_

-O-O-O-

She heard his raucous laughter all the way across the concert hall, echoing against the marble walls and making the room grow just a tad bit quieter. From her spot among the crowd she saw him encircled by women, his hands floating from waist to waist.

She twisted back around, falling back into conversation with the men around her, but minutes later a set of fingers tapped against her shoulder.

"Hey, Potts. Potts. Pottssss…."

She turned around again, meeting Tony's gaze. His eyes were hidden behind amber-tinted sunglasses. She hated when he wore sunglasses indoors—especially at night. It was obnoxious and just another of his rich-boy idiosyncrasies.

"Yes?" she asked politely.

"Wanna dance?" He loomed in close and she smelt alcohol thick on his breath.

"No, thank you, sir." She hoped to deter him, but he didn't leave.

"You look fabulous in that dress. Let's go make out."

Her eyes narrowed and she glanced over at the circle of business men near her. She gave them all a polite smile and tugged Tony away.

"That was easy," he remarked, shoving his glasses up the bridge of his nose with one finger.

Now she was serious. "You're making a fool of yourself," she hissed. "Stop it."

"I didn't do anything…" he pouted, peeking over the rim of his sunglasses.

"Stop," she repeated.

"You stop," he challenged like a five year old.

She groaned, already fed up. "You're obnoxious."

"You're gorgeous."

She released her clutch from where it was clamped under one arm and retrieved her cell phone.

"That's my exit," he said swiftly, and trotted away before she could grab him. She recruited Happy to help her track him down, but Tony was used to evading situations in which he didn't want to be a part and successfully found himself a good hiding spot.

Their hide-and-go-seek game lasted nearly an hour until she heard camera flashes and shouting outside. The crowd inside the hall was staring, gathered around the windows, some laughing, some looking horrified. She glanced up just in time to see Tony lifting his trousers.

He didn't. No. Certainly not…

His eyes caught hers through the panoramic windows and he smirked, wide and filled with satisfaction.

He did.

She sent off a quick text to Happy asking for the car and hurried out to strangle him.

-O-O-O-

"Are you absolutely out of your mind?" she shouted, shoving him into the back seat of the Royce while he tried to blow her off with uncontrollable laughter.

"It was funny. They loved it."

"Oh, It's undeniable that they did. Now your bare ass is going to be plastered on every magazine cover nationwide by morning, no doubt about it." She slammed the door and sank into the front seat next to Happy. "Take us home please, Happy," she spoke calmly but twisted in her seat to drill into Tony again.

"It's my good side, Pep. Don't you agree? You saw it the other day."

Happy shifted in his seat and Pepper felt intensely small suddenly.

She twisted back in her seat to face the windshield. "I don't regret punching you in the face the other day. If I hadn't done it then, I would most certainly do it now."

"You punched him in the face?" Happy asked softly while Tony toyed with the privacy glass, finger poking relentlessly against the button.

She turned again. "Stop it," she said through clenched teeth, and he did, waving his fingers while the glass rose up between them, successfully barricading him from her hissy fit.

-O-O-O-

He collapsed on the bed with a soft whoosh, still giving the occasional giggle, smelling of various types of alcohol with the slight musk of cigar smoke. She yanked off his shoes, not bothering with the laces.

"Oh. You're doing all the work in this one, are you? I figured you were that type of woman, Potts. You wanna be on top too?"

"Shut up," she threatened.

He laughed again, arms flung over the mattress in a T.

"Sit up please," she instructed and this time he actually complied.

She tugged him out of his tie and jacket and moved to the closet to dispose of them. They reeked of expensive perfume and vodka.

"Potts!' he called from the bedroom. "You coming back? A job half-done is well begun…or maybe it's the other way around…"

She bit her lip to keep from reciprocating; all her nagging and shouting obviously wasn't getting through to him. He was going to do what he wanted heedless to what she said or thought.

She unbuttoned his dress shirt, ignoring his smoldering stare.

"Look at me," he asked quietly. She didn't.

"Arms up," she instructed, and tugged his undershirt from his body, revealing that Malibu-tanned chest.

"Pepper…" he tried again, his voice soft and penurious. For a moment she wondered if he even knew her real name.

She tossed the shirt into the closet, successfully making the shot into the hamper.

"She shoots…" he muttered, finally seeming to have calmed down. He looked almost a bit dejected, if she was reading him right. The first sincere expression he's had all night. "She scores."

He flopped against the mattress and closed his eyes. "I'm trying to figure you out, Potts. You're hard to figure out."

"Goodnight, Tony," she answered. "I'll see you in the morning."

As she exited the room, she heard him groan, and then yawn. JARVIS confirmed he was asleep before she even exited the house.

-O-O-O-

Max wasn't home when she returned to the apartment, which was odd. But the thought was only fleeting while she made herself a mug of tea and changed out of her cocktail dress. Things had gone sour ever since London. Max was jealous or suspicious, she wasn't sure. But their relationship had been dry for months now. It was really only a matter of time.

He swept in the door at two in the morning while she was still awake reading on the couch.

"Hi," she greeted him, noting his suit jacket and pressed pants. "Why are you all dressed up?"

He just gave a dry chuckle and tossed his keys onto the counter. "I can't believe this…" he whispered.

"Oh geez, Max," she said, having lost track of time. "Its two AM. Where have you been?" She wasn't angry, just curious.

"I've been at the Weisman," he said, finally turning to face her, his lips pressed thin.

"Oh," she answered. Then she remembered. "Oh, God. Your opening was tonight. Max, I'm sorry…I was…"

He held a hand up. "Its fine, Ginny."

She attempted to speak, but it just came out as a breath.

"You know, I should've known you'd forget. You're a frickin' slave to that job. Of course you…" He sighed and threw his hands up. "Forget it." His voice was quiet. "I'm not going to argue. I'm just gonna…get my stuff and I'll be out of here by tomorrow, ok?"

"Max, I don't…" she began, but then realized she hadn't thought of anything to follow.

He wandered down the hall, shedding his coat while he went.

Pepper didn't quite know what to do. Should she help him? Leave? Stay where she was? She felt her throat tightening. The night had been too much.

She sat frozen on the couch while she listened to him rummaging around in the bedroom. Things had gone from bad to worse, and now unfixable. They had both known it was coming. Pepper's job required so much of her, and she was willing to give it everything, regardless of consequences.

It only took him minutes to pack a bag and head out the door. She didn't even glance up when he exited. She just watched the floor.

When the door clicked shut, she let her head fall to her hands and let it all go.


	7. Chapter 7

Whatever pushed her out of bed for the next week and a half was nothing short of miraculous.

On the twentieth day alone, she dressed neatly in a crisp white blouse and pencil skirt, her hair twisted up into a French twist. She'd usually just toss it up into a pony tail and be done with it, but she'd taken her time. Whether it was the need to prove something to Max, or to waste a few more minutes at home to avoid waking up the hung-over billionaire in is mansion was irrelevant.

When she arrived at the mansion, Tony was awake much to her surprise, tinkering away in the workshop. JARVIS must've notified him of her arrival because he bounded up the sitars, hair uncombed in a dirtied white t-shirt and jeans. "Hi," he said excitedly, then his nose wrinkled at the sight of her.

"What?" she asked, tugging her laptop from its case.

"Your hair."

Once again, she was lost. "What, is it on fire or something?" she deadpanned.

"No. I don't like it."

She snorted. "What a lovely compliment."

He stepped closer, appraising her. "Its too…tight. I like your pony tail. Better yet, I like it when you wear it down."

"Unfortunately, Mister Stark, your opinion on my hair will not solve our public image issue. I think you need to do some more press before you release the new line. Create a bit of hype. Though of course, your little _episode _certainly heightened attention tenfold…"

"Do you know how weird it is to see your own butt on television?"

She sighed and moved over to the couch. "I can't imagine." Though she could imagine how weird it was to see her own boss's butt on television, and YouTube. He'd gotten two millions hits already.

"How's about we just relax today? Just watch TV, play video games? I have Galaga."

"Tony…" she sighed.

"Mario Brothers?"

She leaned closer, noting his wide eyes and trembling hands as he perched on the couch next to her. "What have you eaten today?"

"Red Bull."

"…is not food. What else?"

"A box of Fruit Roll-Ups."

Her eyes bulged. "A whole box?"

"Yeah. They're addicting."

"You're manic."

"Ok, you broke me. I'll settle for Wii Sports. I'll go easy on you in baseball."

"We aren't playing video games, Tony."

"Let's make a deal. We're friends right? Pepper? Pep? Peppy?"

"Don't call me Peppy."

He scooted closer to her on the couch and twirled one loose ginger curl around his finger. "Friends need time to relax. Time to decompress, right? So let's have a movie night tonight."

Her lips thinned. This man was slowly taking over her life. "That's highly inappropriate."

He straightened up, dropping the curl he'd been toying with. "K, it's all good. I'll just attend my usual Lonely Hearts Club meeting tonight. You're not invited."

"Oh, I doubt your heart is that lonely," she quipped.

Anyone else would've missed the look on his face, but she hadn't. She'd gotten quite good at reading him. But she couldn't really decipher the emotion completely before he stood, the wall between them going back up.

"I'm going for a swim," he declared and stomped up the stairs.

-O-O-O-

Later in the afternoon, she eased herself onto a deck chair on the patio with her ever-present notepad. Tony was currently backstroking across the length of the pool clad in a pair of plaid swim trunks and sunglasses.

"Can we tick off some things on the list please?" she asked when he was close enough to hear.

"Sure. Shoot," he said.

"You have a meeting with PR tomorrow at noon. They want the prototype for the new missile. Will it be ready?"

"Yeah, no problem."

She caught the pitch in his voice. Her pen paused against the paper. "You haven't started yet have you?"

"Have faith, young Jedi."

She rolled her eyes. "Oook…Oh. There's a car auction coming up. They've got John Dillinger's original get-away car. Would you like to attend?"

"Put me on the list. Plus one."

"Check. And I need your signature on these contracts, please. So if you could come out of there…"

"You got it…" He paddled toward the steps and rose from the water, his body glistening wet. Pepper cleared her throat and brushed her bangs off of her forehead.

"Why are you being so compliant today?" she quizzed, glaring up at him suspiciously.

He slid onto the edge of her deck chair. "I'm always compliant."

"If compliant is synonymous to…Tony!" She gasped when he dripped water all over her paperwork, creating little wet marks where the ink blotted.

"In fact, it is synonymous with Tony. Compliant is my middle name."

"Get off! Get up!" she shrieked, shoving him away. She stood from the chair, arranging the paper across its surface to dry in the sun, praying nothing was too damaged. "This is carbon paper. You ruined every sheet of it. God, Tony. You're like a child sometimes I swear…" she huffed.

"You're too uptight, Potts. Let loose a little. It's just paperwork."

"Just paperwork?! This is the contract that will release your touch-sensitive technology to our affiliates in Japan. This was the most important business deal of the month!" she continued, still fanning the papers spread over the chair.

"Potts."

She spun to face him. "What?"

"Potts."

"What?!"

"Think fast." He grabbed both her hands tugging her forward with him into the swimming pool with a splash.

-O-O-O-

"Forgive me?"

"Absolutely not."

"Ok, how about now?"

"Never."

Pepper sat on the couch in the living room, now dressed in a pair of Tony's sweatpants and a grey t-shirt, arms crossed over her chest in anger—and to cover the fact that she was no longer wearing a bra.

"Pepper."

"No," she answered, pushing a strand of damp hair over her shoulder.

"Hey, at least we can have a movie night now. So what'll it be first? Die Hard or Law Abiding Citizen?" He beamed up at her, smug.

Two could play at this game.

"Well I say since I'm the guest—and since I was forced into it—then I get to pick."

He didn't look so pleased now. "Anything but the Notebook."

"Alright. The Lake House."

His face fell to his palm. Now he knew how she felt. Pepper broke out her own smug smile before asking JARVIS to pull up the movie from his database.

-O-O-O-

Tony tossed a kernel of popcorn into her mouth and she caught it easily.

"Nice coordination."

"Yeah, I played volleyball."

"Nice. Alright. Favorite band?"

"Don't laugh."

"Promise."

"Coldplay."

"AC/DC," he replied.

"I already knew that." She said with a coy smile.

He leaned back against the sofa, one arm slung over the back. "Well, I do believe you're flirting with me, Potts."

"No I wasn't."

"Were."

"Barely."

"So you admit it?"

She turned to reciprocate, but when her eyes met his she retreated. She couldn't do this. This was much too casual an arrangement to have with her boss. This was highly inappropriate and unprofessional. "I…I need to go home."

She stood and placed her lemonade glass on the coffee table.

"Right, yeah…weird."

"Yeah, a little weird," she answered, clasping her hands in front of her.

"You're right. Weird."

"Please stop saying weird."

"Ok. See you tomorrow."

"Ok, bye." She turned and hurried off to her car, not realizing she was still wearing his clothes until she was already halfway up the PCH.

-O-O-O-

It was nice. She wouldn't deny it. He was nice, and they were nice together. If she wasn't an employee, she'd almost consider…

No. If she wasn't an employee she never would've gotten the chance to meet him, and all of this would be irrelevant.

He was intolerable. Incorrigable. Inappropriate. Inside her mind every minute of every day. By now, after five months, she'd become essential to him. She knew what he wanted to lunch without asking. She knew he got tired of Chinese food and would ask for a Subway sandwich of all things. She knew he hated Starbucks and would rather use the rare Jamaican beans he kept at home. He cared more about the company than most people thought; she'd seen him personally write a letter of recommendation for an intern instead of dumping the responsibility on her. But things like meetings with accounting and management were less appealing to him simply because his mind couldn't slow down for the few hours it took to sit through a meeting. He loved life; hence his incessant partying and rendezvousing with women. It wasn't as if he was purposely being an ass; he was young, entitled, and could afford to live in such a way. But then there were some times when he_ was_ deliberately being an ass, and those were the times she wanted to throttle him. In five months, she could practically list everything about the man.

She hadn't even realized she'd come to know him so quickly while exhausting every other relationship in her life. She had friends. Everyone had friends. But she hardly saw them anymore. She was at the mansion seven days a week for several hours at the very least. Her friends were becoming more distant and Max hadn't been heard from in weeks. His things had been boxed up and picked up. The apartment still smelled of fresh canvas and acrylic paint.

She'd only just covered Tony's ass—literally (she'd begged TMZ not to sell the footage to E!, and had to issue statements to countless tabloids on his behalf)—and he was off on some other escapade again.

This time, bright and early Monday morning, she'd sent two young women from his room. She'd been shocked at the sight of them and that he'd had that kind of audacity.

When she brought him a plate of waffles to the workshop, he seemed indifferent.

"How'd they take it?"

She sighed and swept her bangs from her face. "The blonde tried to make off with your t-shirt, and the other one threatened me with her spike heel if I didn't give her your phone number."

"And did you?"

"Certainly not, Mr. Stark," she said dryly, holding out a folder of paperwork, labeled and pre-read by her as always. "This needs your signature."

"I don't like to be handed things," he tried. But she saw right through it. He was testing her again.

Their eyes locked in battle a moment. His strong brown ones pressed hers, daring to give in and break that perfectly professional vibrato she kept.

"Yes, but if I just leave them on your desk, it never gets signed."

Right answer. He smirked and broke the stare. He held his hand out for the exchange to occur, and she passed the folder over.

He smirked under those jet black lashes. "You are a woman of astonishing depths, Miss Potts."

She grinned, accomplished. Like a stubborn horse, she'd broken him. She'd found the hole in the tapestry and tugged the most important strand.

"Will that be all, Mr. Stark?"

He just smiled and picked up his pen.

"That will be all, Miss Potts."

-O-O-O-

It didn't click until she arrived home. His aversion to being handed things. He didn't want to be emotionally committed to anyone. The exchange of physical goods also meant exchange of emotion to Tony Stark. As a boy, he'd been given everything by his parents while they tried to lavish affection on him. They were rich; they had everything. Tony had grown accustomed to the idea of 'things.' He associated the passing of a simple file folder with the link of human relationship. This was precisely why he took no phone numbers, nor did he 'cuddle' with any other women he kept over. He didn't want emotional attachment. But what had she done?

She'd handed him something. She'd broken through the barrier. A first, she'd been relieved that she didn't have to wait days now for paperwork to get signed. But now it seemed scary. What had she said in that simple gesture?

She glared down at the magazine on her coffee table, bearing his picture, and snatched it up. She hadn't read the article about Pitt and Jolie's break up yet.

-O-O-O-

At work the next morning, she'd learned exactly what the repercussions of handing things to Tony were. A bouquet of wild flowers perched on the edge of her desk, all pink and orange and green, filling the office with their sweet, fresh scent. The envelope had her name scrawled over it in his thin, sharp handwriting. When she tugged the flap free and peeked inside, two twin pieces of cardstock peeked back at her. Tickets to the Coldplay concert in September. The tickets that she'd begged Max for but he hadn't been able to afford. Along with a pair of backstage passes that she knew for a fact were impossible to obtain.

She felt the prick of tears in her eyes, and a burst of anticipation.

Obviously Tony Stark's emotions were just like his ego. Huge, unpredictable, and ostentatious.


	8. Chapter 8

She was beginning to learn that she was absolutely indispensable to him. Without her constant reminders, he would most certainly lose all sanity and hope, not to mention the company would go belly up.

September came much too quickly, marking the one year point of her employment.

Unlike her record breaking fourteen-day stay, he didn't come to her office with champagne and flirtatious banter. He forgot, and even more—or less—importantly, he'd forgotten her birthday that June. She shrugged it off. It had been expected. He was terrible at memorizing dates, names, phone numbers…anything that didn't have to do with science or technology. He couldn't even remember to show up for meetings on time, so she didn't expect him to remember the birth date of his most valuable employee either.

On the first of the month, she realized the concert was approaching in fifteen days and she had yet to find someone to go with her. Her friend Charlotte was out of town for that particular weekend, and all other friends weren't answering their phones. She suspected her phone number had been deleted from their devices after so long without contact. All her friendships had been put on the backburner because of her job.

Max wouldn't dare speak to her. She'd tried. They attempted coffee, but he left after ten minutes of exceedingly awkward conversation. He would be out of the question.

There was only one solution. Waste the ticket, and go alone like an idiot. Or ask _him._

It was only the day before the event when she finally got the courage to ask.

Her hand hovered over the receiver. It was wrong. Inappropriate. But she'd seen the face value of the ticket, and the backstage passes, and she just couldn't let them go to waste.

Her manicured fingers curled around the phone and lifted it to her ear. She listened at the monotone buzz a moment before dialing.

He answered, the sounds of whiring machinery in the background. A power drill, maybe. He'd been upgrading JARVIS's mainframe when she brought him lunch that day.

She chewed her lip, and began. "I have a question."

"Uh-huh…" he murmured, and she heard the metallic clink of a ratchet.

"These tickets…well…" She laughed softly. "I don't have anyone to go with."

It was lame and almost pitiful. She continued, trying to spit out a good enough explanation before he could interject. "And of course these tickets must've cost a lot of money and I don't want them to go to waste. I tried my friend Charlotte, but she's out of town and…uhm…."

"Yeah, I'll go," he said coolly, his voice closer to the speaker.

"You will?"

"Sure. If you don't think it's _highly inappropriate_," he mocked.

"I suppose I could make an exception this time."

"I'll pick you up and all that jazz."

No. This wasn't a date. Definitely not a date.

"Oh, that's not necessary," she answered.

"Oh, I think it is. See you tomorrow at seven, Potts."

-O-O-O-

She panicked. And when Pepper Potts panicked, her closet exploded all over her bedroom floor. So far she'd made three outfits, all of which showed maybe too much cleavage or were just a tad too tight along her waistline. Finally, she settled on a pair of nice, dark blue jeans and a simple black sweater, completed with a floral scarf to add a bit of color. She tugged on a pair of heeled boots just before her doorbell rang, promptly at seven.

He stood before her, hands shoved in his own jean pockets, sporting a graphic t-shirt beneath a charcoal blazer and amber tinted lenses. Suave as ever. His moustache twitched as he looked her over.

"You always wear black. I thought you might wear something different."

"And you're always late. I didn't expect you to be on time," she quipped, slinging her purse over one shoulder.

"Well played," he said, stepping aside so she could shut and lock the door.

-O-O-O-

They enjoyed the first few songs, forced to stand shoulder to shoulder in the crowd. She couldn't deny the hot friction between their sleeves, and the ache she felt, wishing there wasn't material separating them. But this was her boss, and that was all wrong. She swallowed the thought, instead concentrating on singing along, clapping along to the beat. She even caught him doing so a few times.

He'd just give her a sly wink behind his lenses and continue.

Several women in a crowd to their right were hissing excitedly about his presence in the venue, but didn't dare come over for a drink or a dance.

At the end of The Scientist, Pepper could practically feel the tension in the air. He was having a hard time keeping his hands to himself, she could tell. With all the other couples around them locking in quiet, tender embraces it was hard not to feel left out. Even their dance would be only casual.

He stood, the lights making his sunglasses appear blue, hands in his pockets, nervously twitching beneath the material. When she looked back over to him, his eyes were on her. There were so many things that needed to be said, to be done. But she could forfeit those for a night. Sometimes she found that her nature of always being planned and thorough didn't work; sometimes things just had to happen.

So she let his hands wind around her waist. She let him pull her closer, and let her hands travel to his shoulders as the beginning chords of Fix You were tapped out.

It only took the second verse for her to lean closer, chin on his shoulder, hands pressing against his shoulder blades. His fingers linked at her back and they paused their awkward dance, just standing to sway back and forth a moment.

She felt his hold tighten at the lyrics: _'When you lose something you can't replace, when you love someone, but it goes to waste. Could it be worse?'_

Her eyes fell closed and she relaxed into him.

'_But if you never try you'll never know just what you're worth.'_

There was a tug somewhere in her heart when the words were spoken. She tried to ignore it, to suppress it. But it was there. Like a sore thumb. Like a giant pink elephant, and it refused to be ignored.

At the beginning of Yellow, he pulled back much too quick for her liking, slipping into formalities because that's where she was comfortable.

Her body felt suddenly lacking, but she didn't ask him to continue dancing. She didn't even look at him. She turned her gaze back to the stage, focused on anything other than him. She needed to gather herself, to process, because that's what Pepper did when faced with a crossroads.

She felt warmth again when his hand slipped into hers. And it wasn't awkward. They stood side by side, facing the stage, hands linked but not in sensual need or teenage fantasy. He needed grounding, whether or not he wanted to admit it. And she needed the flight risk even if she was frightened to let go.

Once the set was finished, they filed out of the venue with the others, still linked hand in hand. She only pulled away when paparazzi ambushed them by the valet's desk.

Of course it wouldn't be that easy. Life was never a yes or no question.

-O-O-O-

He dropped her off at her doorstep, because he'd never taken a girl out like this before—on a _date, _Pepper confirmed finally—and this is what all the Channing-Tatum-Ryan-Gosling-hunks did in sappy movies. She was surprised he hadn't brought her a corsage.

"Thanks for…the tickets. You know…I really enjoyed it. And thanks for coming. I'm sorry it was short notice. But it was fun…" she stammered lamely, willing her mouth to shut but words continued to babble out.

She felt a tug at her chin and looked up to face him. His eyes smoldered, his lenses now removed. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but closed it again, and leaned closer.

His breath was hot against her cheek when she twisted away shyly.

She laughed breathily. "Erm…I'm sorry…just…"

His head tilted sideways, lips twisted and eyebrows furrowed, as if he were trying to analyze her.

"Its fine," he said after several moments. And he succeeding in sounding like it didn't matter. "No it…It's cool. I'll see you tomorrow, Miss Potts."

There were the formalities again. Comfort. Parameters.

She bit her lips, as if trying to hide them from his view or forget he'd just tried to kiss her.

"Goodnight, Tony," she settled, her hands reaching between them as if she wanted to touch him, but instead floated there awkwardly in space.

He slipped back to the Rolls Royce, back into the backseat, and out of sight.

-O-O-O-

The next morning, she slipped back into the routine. She dressed for work and curled her hair, grabbing a pair of lattes at Starbucks on her way to the mansion.

She deposited his cup on the kitchen counter and hurried off to her office, wanting to remain unseen. Avoid him at all costs.

She was making a huge dent in the pool of emails when a very familiar male vibrato cut through the room.

"Mute," he spoke, and the Pandora station she'd opened silenced instantly.

She glanced up, bangs in her eyes, mouth open in slight shock. "Tony," she said attempting to sound nonchalant.

"What's up?" he asked, moving forward, paper coffee cup in hand.

"Oh, just emails. Japan is wanting you to do a conference call…"

"No," he said suddenly, his voice several shades darker.

"No? But that's our most important thing right now…"

"No," he repeated. "I don't mean _no-I won't-do-it. _I mean _no-that's-not-what-I-meant."_

Her head cocked sideways. "You lost me."

His cup slid onto her desk and he rounded the glass to stand near her. "Pepper…"

He stared down to her, fists at his sides. He wanted to tell her, she knew. It was too much. Too much to process and filter through with him in the room. The previous night had been too raw. Almost unrealistic. But it had happened, and that couldn't be undone.

She turned away, facing her computer. "PR wants to…" she began, but his hands gripped the arms of her chair and twisted her to face him again.

He loomed dangerously close, eyes smoldering that Godiva color again.

"Tony," she squeaked.

"What is _wrong_ with you?" he asked, almost forcibly.

"Excuse me?" she said, partially offended at his behavior and frightened.

"Why can't you just open your eyes, Potts? Why do you have to be so_ damned polite _all the time? All buttoned up in that business suit, all shy and coy. It's maddening."

"Excuse me," she said again, but not a question this time. She attempted to stand, but he moved into her path, keeping her in the chair.

"Stop trying to avoid it, Potts. You can't just keep dancing around it."

He paused, and she felt suddenly like a criminal at interrogation. Under a microscope.

"I don't get you. I don't understand why in the hell you don't see it. Or at least you pretend not to see it. And I'm not talking about avoiding me because you think I'll use you and dump you out like garbage. Because those are _other women_. And you aren't other women. I 'm talking about how you wear your hair all fancy and the next day it's down because I told you I liked it that way. You do things like that without even noticing and it's infuriating. It's like you don't even care."

"Tony," she said, her voice uncharacteristically thin.

She was silenced when his lips found hers, hard and forcing the breath from her chest. His grip of her hands tightened against the arms of the chair and she squeaked beneath him. But she responded, kissing back and turning her head into a more comfortable position.

She felt the chair tip precariously as he leaned closer to scoop her out of it. Then she was standing, flush against him, hands at his chest.

When he released her, her chest was heaving, her lipstick smeared and he smirked.

"Finally," he said, eyes twinkling like a kid on Christmas, and all she could do was smile back.

-O-O-O-

AN: I'm so sorry this took so long. I've just got so much running through my head at the moment. I haven't really be motivated for this story, but today I read some other authors' amazing work and just got back into the swing of things. Believe it or not, Taylor Swift's Speak Now album helped me along too…which is odd, because you wouldn't think that'd be the type of motivational music needed to produce a story for these two. BTW, Last Kiss is absolutely and officially their theme song. Listen to it. For rizz….

Anyways, reviews are loved Thanks for so many followers!


	9. Chapter 9

She backed out of his arms when he tried to lean in again.

"Oh my God…" she panicked, staring down at the supplies and paperwork littering her desk.

"Hey," he said, but she didn't answer.

"You…you…you…" she stammered, unable to form words.

"Me," he answered, smiling smugly.

"Oh God…we can't do this…Its weird and its bad. Ok, it's not weird. It's actually really nice. But you're you. And I'm me. And I don't do this," she rambled, hands flailing in front of her as she tried to explain. He remained calm, nodding along with her as if she weren't about to hyperventilate.

"What are we going to do?"

"Well…I was thinking dinner and a movie?" he asked. At her reaction, he continued. "Don't tell me you have plans."

She shook her head, shaking a curl loose from her neat bun. "No! No, absolutely not….I mean…no," she said, her voice softening to a calm pace.

"Great. So you pick the dinner, and I'll pick the movie." He tossed her a wink and swaggered from her office, pausing to toss her a suave smirk at the door.

She sank back into her desk chair, knees weak. He was throwing her for a loop again, and she couldn't figure out where the punch-line was this time. She got the sinking feeling that he was serious about all of this.

-O-O-O-

She tucked her feet beneath her, balancing the plastic sushi container on her lap. He nabbed a piece of her California roll with his fingers, popping it into his mouth whole.

"So you're my girlfriend now," he confirmed, mouth full.

She couldn't hide the blush that crept over her cheeks, but she pretended to play coy. "Hmm…I suppose so."

His head lolled in her direction, cheeks puffed out with the mass of food inside his mouth. Through the rice and fish, he managed to smirk. "You should feel accomplished."

"How come?"

"I haven't had a…steady-ish relationship since I was fourteen."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah, all-male boarding school kind of narrows the playing field."

"Ah, I see." She leaned forward for the soy sauce on the table. For having such an expensive home, tony was not opposed to eating on the couch and letting take-out boxes lay open on the table. Pepper wouldn't ever eat in her living room unless she was just feeling extremely lazy.

When JARVIS took initiative to begin the movie, her attention was immediately lost. She could care less about the automatic gunfire blasting through the hidden speakers. She faced him, watching as he focused intently on the film and stuffed half an egg roll into his mouth.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," he answered, releasing his chop sticks.

She tried to formulate a set-up for her question, but instead decided against fancy words and just be blunt about it. "Why are you doing all this?"

He turned to face her, still chewing around the food in his mouth. "Because I like you."

She laughed, but it came out as more of a scoff. She hoped he didn't take offense. "But you like a lot of women."

His nose wrinkled and his chopsticks went into motion again, picking around in the box in his lap. "No I don't. They're just…They just want the man. The experience, so they can go back to their friends and say they bedded Tony Stark."

She was silent, trying to process how he felt about it all. How he went along with their every whim. But surely it wasn't one-sided. She'd learned that Tony Stark never did anything if there wasn't something for him in the deal as well.

"And you, what do you want?" she asked, shocked at herself for asking.

She didn't expect him to answer so quickly. "I don't know. Happiness is a start…" His chopsticks scraped along the bottom of the take-out box.

"But you were happy with those women…at least at the basest of levels."

He shook his head again. "No, I wasn't. It was just a ruse."

"A ruse for who?"

"Myself," he said, turning to lock eyes with her. She was taken aback a moment at how pure and honest he was. Like the night she'd found him with the drugs.

He didn't have to be pressed to continue. "When you live a life like mine…everything is an inexhaustible resource. Money, booze, women, power. I'm not naïve, Pepper. It might seem like that, but I know exactly what I'm doing. I know there's more out there, but sometimes it's just too godammed hard to make an effort. Its easier just having no accountability."

"Right," she said, understanding. "So why now?"

He turned to face her once more, big brown eyes the color of melted caramel. "Because you're all I've got."

She returned a sad smile, and he tossed her a bright one, too uneasy with emotion to remain serious for long. He dropped the chopsticks in his box and leaned an arm across the back of the couch behind her. She reciprocated and pressed into his side, head nuzzled where his arm met his shoulder. They remained there a few moments until Pepper reached up for his hand behind her, and pulled his arm around her, cuddling in closer.

-O-O-O-

"You need a new car," he said one morning as she packed his suitcase for Monaco. He was lounging across the mattress, holographic tablet in hand, fiddling with something-or-other.

She paused from folding one of his dress shirts. "I have a BMW."

"It's a 1998. Its 2000. Get with the millennium, Pepper."

"That's practically new," she said, rolling her eyes.

"You need something sexy. Something like…a Porsche."

"A Porsche? I don't want a Porsche."

"Ok. A Ferrari."

"No," she said flatly, zipping up the luggage.

"Then what would you like?"

She sighed, perching on the edge of the mattress. "Well, if you insist on knowing…I'd like a Volvo."

"But that's so…safe." His nose wrinkled as he eased up behind her, fingertips running along her arm.

"Precisely. Wheels up in thirty minutes. You haven't showered yet."

"I'd like some company," he purred close to her ear, but she stood promptly.

"Not a chance. You have ten minutes," she said and exited the room, though not without a stolen kiss.

-O-O-O-

She warily slid out of her cream-colored heels and held them between two fingers. "You'll ruin your suit," she said in weak protest while he tugged her toward the beach.

Visiting the Mediterranean Sea had been a must-see on their trip, replaced by the luncheon she'd arranged with the other snooty car-owers, which she had been all too happy to escape from with him.

He threw her an eye roll before bending the roll up the legs of his brown trousers. "Happy?" He'd abandoned his jacket next to her shoes, but his blue tie still hung around his neck, caught in the wind. He had a pair of aviators perched on his nose and he peeked over them at her, waiting.

She resolved to follow into the fine pure white sand, and grabbed his hand, allowing him to lead her along.

"S'beautiful out here," he said, planting his hands on his hips when they stopped a few feet away from the water's edge.

"Yeah, it really is," she answered, though she couldn't see the difference between this place and Malibu. Obviously, he found something thrilling about the scenery before them, so she went along with it. Whatever made him happy, she'd agree. Because he deserved it.

He glanced back over at her, peeking over his lenses again. "Not as beautiful as you."

She scoffed shyly and looked away, combing a piece of hair behind her ear. "Oh…God…" she laughed.

"No really," he said, pulling her into a kiss. She didn't resist, but swore she heard the whir of a camera shutter.

-O-O-O-

AN: I'm sorry this is so very short, I know. I'm horrible. But I tried to make an effort to update before I leave for school…tomorrow. This may be my last update for awhile, but who knows. Anywho, hope you enjoyed review!


	10. Chapter 10

He'd been complaining all morning about a stuffy nose. Usually, Tony tried to work through illness, though illness didn't come often. Through headaches and indigestion, he pressed on. But bring on the flu and Tony was down for the count. He became a sniffling, snuffling teddy bear who just wanted to be nursed and cuddled.

His office couch was currently littered with soiled Kleenex and missile schematics. His nose was rubbed raw and red when Pepper entered with a mug of tea.

He accepted her offering, though not without a stolen kiss. He loved kissing her at the office—mostly because he knew she hated it. They were trying to stay low; they'd succeeded so far. She had dismissed the close-call on the beach in France as imagination because no photos had surfaced yet. But it was important to her not to let the cat out of the bag around the workplace. The last thing she needed were rumors flying around that she was sleeping with her boss.

She slid into the chair across from him, watching him sip his tea and scan over the paperwork she'd shoved into his hands.

"I should be allowed to go home early," he whined.

"Not this time. We're too busy," she said, bringing her own mug to her lips.

"…and as my assistant, you should constantly be at my side. Which means you'll go with me. And we can cuddle." He pouted into his mug and she couldn't help but flush at the lost=puppy sound in his voice. "Cuddle is code word for 'finish paperwork,' by the way."

"Oh," she said smiling. "I don't doubt it. But we should really finish things up here, and then I'll call Happy to drive you home."

"You aren't coming?"

"Later. After I finish my to-do list…or should I say _your _to-do list."

He wiped at his nose with the sleeve of his blazer and gave a vicious, disturbingly long sniff. He glared back down at the papers in his hands, trying to focus but she knew his sinuses were preventing it. She stared above his head at the blank space of wall where his previous San Franciscan landscape had hung. She'd sold the thing off, deeming it cliché. She had made several attempts at broadening his taste in art, but all the openings they'd visited consisted of him drinking himself into a stupor or sliding off into a dark corner with a voluptuous blonde—post-Pepper of course. She'd attempted to introduce him to both Monet and Manet, but Tony's attention span was small and he couldn't be forced to spend too long gazing and deciphering art the way Pepper did.

"You need something up there,' she said. "Something modern."

He was silent a moment. "What, like Banksy?"

She chuckled into her mug. Because to him, that was modern art. "No, not exactly. Like Pollack."

He shrugged, in different. "Pollack's cool. But I guarantee there's some seven-year-old at the nearest public school who can do the same thing."

She shifted in her chair, reclining deeper into the sleek leather. "I'll see what I can do."

-O-O-O-

She booked two tickets to an opening in November at the Met in New York. She knew for a fact that out of his many trips to New York, he'd never once visited the Metropolitan. What a travesty. It was her most favorite place in the world. Once she finished her paperwork and filed every bit away, she returned to the mansion with soup and a fresh loaf of French bread.

He was sprawled across the leather sofa in his workshop, one arm dangling off the side. JARVIS granted her access and she placed the soup before him on the slim coffee table.

"I wanted pizza," he groaned.

"Pizza is not appropriate for someone with the flu. You'll be staying home tomorrow, by the way."

"But the R&D meeting…"

She straightened up to face him. "Wow."

"What?" he asked, peeking form beneath the arm that was draped over his face.

"You're complaining about _not _going to work. I think I should call a conference. The press should be notified."

He grumbled something incomprehensible and rolled to take hold of the steaming bowl of beef broth and vegetables. A few moments of silence sat between them, only punctuated by the smacking of Tony's lips and the spoon scraping the bowl.

"This is fantastic."

"Thank you," she answered, now at the counter straightening a mess he'd overlooked.

"You made this?"

"Indeed."

"Hmmm…." He hummed in approval. "OK, you get a promotion. You are now my live-in chef."

"I can't decide if that's really a promotion or not…"

The bowl clattered against the table again, indicating he'd finished. "Come cuddle with me," he asked, pouting.

She turned, lacing her fingers in front of her, squaring her shoulders. "I'm sorry, but I must politely decline. I'm going to put you to bed and go home."

"Is that a euphemism?" he asked, standing and wiping his sleeve over his nose.

She followed him the stairs, corralling him to the bedroom. She managed to get him into a set of pajamas before he abandoned the shirt on the floor once she'd turned her back to dispense his medicine.

"I don't want medicine," he groaned, avoiding taking the glass of water she held out to him.

"Tony—" she warned.

Without further protest, satisfied that he'd gotten a rise out of her, he took the glass and the handful of pills. After insisting on being tucked in, his eyes fluttered closed and he almost instantly looked relieved and relaxed.

"Thank you," he mumbled into his pillow. For a moment she wanted to ask him to repeat himself, but figured he was probably delusional with lack of sleep. "You do a lot for me. I appreciate…you."

She was at liberty to smile, with his eyes closed and his back to her. So she did. She let a huge grin break across her face, sure that she looked like an idiot. She bent to press her lips to his dark curls, and deposited the empty glass in the bathroom before exiting the room, pulling the door closed without another sound.

-O-O-O-

The flu was successfully conquered by the time they were set to attend the opening in New York. Tony had wandered off to schmooze, leaving Pepper alone in a room that was filled with only one single piece: lightbulbs strung for the ceiling, of different size and colors. And this was considered art, Pepper mused as she moved beneath them, staring up at the lights above her.

"I think I found a piece," Tony's voice sounded from the opening in the room. "It's a Newman. You should be proud."

He strutted inside the dim room, swinging his sunglasses between two fingers, chest puffed with pride as his eyes flickered up to the bulbs.

"I am," she replied, because that's what he was fishing for.

He reached up to swat at one of the lightbulbs, but glanced in her direction and thought better. "I don't understand art…" he whispered, and she assumed he was talking to himself. There was an extended silence.

"But I'm tired of doing stuff rich people are supposed to do…" he said, and she knew she was being addressed. Though the point in his statement was a mystery to her, she was expected to follow along.

"Like what?" she quizzed.

"I've been thinking about it a lot. And I just…don't want to go back to women…I'm sorry. That came out all wrong. I mean other women."

She glanced up, confused.

His eyes caught hers a moment and he was silent, admiring the purple glow the bulbs emitted on her pupils.

"I mean it's you. It's always been you."

She turned away shyly and shifted her clutch from hand to hand. "Tony. I don't think you should…limit things like…"

But he didn't bother letting her finish. His hand shot out to tilt her chin upwards, drawing her in close for a kiss. She pulled back breathless and dazed like always.

He grinned, but more with his eyes than anything and once again she was left out of his inner dialogue. "So yeah. Anyways. That's me…telling you."

The sentence sounded finished, but she could hear the words left stuck within the gears in his mind. Words that couldn't be said and wouldn't be. This was the closest they would get.

-O-O-O-

Back home in Malibu, Pepper purchased a cat. A fat, roley-poley of a thing. Orange and rust colored named Albert. It had been a whim, really. She needed something to fill the emptiness of the apartment. Not that she needed another thing to take care of, but her subconscious did.

She didn't tell Tony. He was becoming too close for comfort; too much, too soon. Not that she wasn't happy about their relationship, or thankful that he'd settled on her. It was just a bit jarring to have a boss for a year, and then turn him into a boyfriend. She was struggling with the transition.

He was still in charge. She still bowed to his every need, and sometimes it was hard not to feel like the maid-turned-call-girl. She still managed his schedule, though now she had more leverage—and new strategies—to force him into meetings and appointments he would otherwise avoid. That was the fun part. But handling his laundry, dirty or clean, no longer seemed mundane, but intimate. Picking up his lunch wasn't an errand but a gesture. It was strange, and sometimes out-of-body.

One afternoon, she was seated in her office, typing away and finishing the long list of emails. A widget in the corner dinged, indicating a news story with a tag that she had flagged. She clicked once on the little square, and several more opened, all with headlines bearing her name. Hers. And Tony's. There was also a nickname that made her stomach churn: Pepperony. She felt suddenly ill.

They even had pictures of her leaving Tony's house the night he was down with the flu, pictures of them at the art opening, even when they were alone—or at least thought so. Pictures of them on the beach in France were plastered over every front page, blaring headlines in white letters: 'TONY STARK SETTLED DOWN WITH PA?'

'STARK IN NEED OF PERSONAL ASSISTANCE?'

'PEPPER POTTS SLEEPING HER WAY UP THE LADDER?'

She wanted to vomit.

Her mind swirled.

-O-O-O-

She marched into the mansion, several tabloids in hand. Luckily, she didn't have to travel far to find him; he was on the couch, feet proper up, headset over his ears, playing some warfare video game.

The magazines spewed from her hand in a tumble onto the coffee table. "This is way too out of hand," she blurted, already in hysterics.

"What's the problem now? I haven't mooned anyone in months." She wasn't sure who he was speaking to when he added, "No. Not you. I gotta go. You're dead anyways." He whipped the thing off his ears, tossing it onto the table beside the magazines. "What's going on?" he asked, reaching for a water bottle at the end of the couch.

"These people. This…" She gestured to the magazines on the table.

"What's the problem?" he asked again, taking a long swig.

"I can't do this anymore, Tony. We can't do this. It isn't…" Her voice was soft, almost weak and watery.

That got his attention long enough for him to stare at the magazines before him. "Oh, wow. Well that sucks," he said, picking up a copy of the Enquirer.

"It isn't fair. And it isn't worth it," she blurted.

His head snapped up, and the magazine fluttered from his hands to the floor. "What?"

"You heard me. This is so…wrong. I'm not the mystery redhead, ok? I'm not going to be depicted like some floozy trying to sleep her way to the top." She brushed a hand through her bangs. "I knew this would happen," she groaned.

"Pepper…" he stood, fists clenched by his sides.

"I'm not that girl."

"Why are you so angry?"

"How can you not be angry about this?" she exploded, hands thrown out by her sides, shock and hurt evident on her face.

He glanced away, down at the blue rim around the edge of the glass table.

"Because you're used to it, I understand. But I'm not. And…I think its best if we just…"

"We don't have to make a big deal about it."

"..stopped," Pepper finished.

Now it was his turn to be hurt. His mouth hung open slightly, eyes wide. "Pep."

"Until it blows over…or indefinitely. Goodnight, Tony," she said briskly, lifting a hand in a wave and turned on heel.

-O-O-O-

AN:I did it! An update sooner than I had expected. Well…hope you all enjoy. Reviews are always awesome


	11. Chapter 11

AN: Guys. Guys, its me. No really. I'm here. With an update. I didn't abandon you. Aren't you glad?

-O-O-O-

What a stupid mistake. This was the worst thing she'd ever done, and the worst part was she knew it. And she couldn't fix it now. It was too late.

It had only been two weeks since she'd broken things off, and the press hadn't caught wind of it until this night. Tonight they'd—or rather Tony—had been invited as a special guest speaker to the UCLA Department of Science commencement gala. People had been fawning over him the entire time. And luckily he'd been at least halfway sober enough to get through his speech. Now she sat alone at the bar, in a stupid dress and stupid heels that pinched her toes while he perused the corners of the room, trailed by a gaggle of blonde, busty women.

Without fail, she predicted which one he'd choose to be his arm candy for the night: a platinum blonde with an atrocious spray tan and a skirt that hit upper thigh. With every camera flash, she watched the girl's face grow brighter with the buzz of being in the lime light, and Tony's hand slip lower and lower down her hip.

She wanted to smack him. Walk right up, push the paparazzi out of the way and take one full-force swing at that stupid immaculately trimmed and primped face. She wanted to say she hated him. But that wasn't true at all.

She was kidding herself if she thought that the tabloids had been what scared her away. Indeed, they had. But it was the sheer volume of it all. The job, the camera flashes. It was too much. Too much too soon. And maybe a lot of it had to do with Tony himself. She just couldn't trail after him, doing his job and hers at the same time and expect to come home every night to rose petals and French wine. It wasn't reality. And Pepper was always grounded in reality.

So she turned back to the bar, ordered the driest martini the bartender could manage, and nursed it til it was gone. Then she ordered another.

-O-O-O-

Her hands clenched and unclenched around the steering wheel. This was ridiculous. She couldn't believe she was here. This was completely wrong, but she just couldn't bring herself to turn out of the parking lot or not. She needed to do this. She needed to tell him, and quickly before she let herself chicken out.

She used her key to let herself in, and JARVIS's voice greeted her in the foyer. If Tony was downstairs, he'd certainly heard her enter. She deposited her keys in the bowl near the door, but kept her coat as a security blanket, tugging it closer over her emerald evening dress that she hadn't yet changed out of.

A thin swirl of smoke filtered from the alcove past the living room, giving his hiding spot away. She noticed he'd left his built-in cigar humidor open, but said nothing. When she rounded the corner, she found him sitting in the broad, chocolate colored leather arm chair, cigar pinched between two fingers and turned away from her. He had heard her approaching, certainly. She still wore the Louboutins from that evening. She laced her fingers in front of her, nervous twisting them. What was she supposed to say now?

"Why are you here?" he asked, not harshly, though she heard a certain amount of resentment there.

She sighed, trying to untie the knot in her chest. "I…wanted to apolo…"

He turned to face her now and stamped out his cigar before standing. She went silent, anxious of what he might do next.

"You know Pepper…You're the best thing I've ever had. I trusted you a lot. With a lot of things that I've never trusted anyone else with."

She nodded, defeated. Whatever she had planned didn't matter now. "I know you did."

"And let me tell you, I really wanted to bring that woman home tonight. I really did. But I just couldn't do it. She followed me to the limo, and then I sent her away. Because of you." He voice was thick and heavy, and he gestured toward her, exasperated. She stepped back once.

"Because I couldn't stand having another woman here when I've found the perfect one. But you weren't satisfied with that."

"Tony, I know. I made a mistake," she tried.

"I've been nothing but nice to you. I've treated you to concerts and flowers and countless dinners. And you act like I've somehow made this huge offense against you."

"You didn't," she protested, stepping forward in confidence now, hand out trying to reach for him.

"Then what's the problem, Pepper?"

"I was…" she began. "I was just…scared! I don't know. I wasn't really ready for a millionaire boyfriend and it was just all at once. I had a boyfriend when I started working for you. But everything went wrong between us, and I guess I was just scared that this situation…this boss-employee situation would ruin things between you and me. And I didn't want that to happen. So I just stood my distance…You didn't deserve that, Tony. I'm so sorry."

She was babbling, getting carried away. Finally, she took a breath and stopped, hoping he had something else to say.

When she finally met his eyes, he was smiling, the corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk.

"What?" she asked.

"Does you coming here have anything to do with the four martinis I saw you drink at the party tonight?"

She ducked her head. "Well…maybe a little."

He made a humming sound, grinning wider. "Yeah. Cuz my Pepper wouldn't have come here without twelve pages of notes on what we needed to discuss to improve our relationship."

She smiled at his teasing. "Well…I guess this means we're…together again?"

He grinned, flashing that million dollar smile. "Is that what you want?"

"Yeah. I'd like that." Her stomach swam when he took her hand.

"Good. Because I'd love to."

She leaned in to kiss his cheek.

"Well that escalated quicky," he joked before tugging her towards the spiraling staircase.

-O-O-O-

AN: Hope you enjoyed. I'm pretty confident that I kept Pepper in character here, in a situation that is so unlike her usual demeanor. But she isn't perfect, and she loses control sometimes. She's human. And I think maybe too many stories paint her as the one in the relationship who never does anything wrong. I think it's a nice change to see the roles flipped. Reviews are lovely :)


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